


Gray

by hewwow (nonworth)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Hanzo tried his best, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 05:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19100842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonworth/pseuds/hewwow
Summary: The sky was gray.Such deep gray that seemed to isolate him from the rest of the world if he were to stare long enough at it. But he didn’t want to leave quite yet, not when Genji’s concerned eyes that now gazed down at him were still filled with life. Not when Jesse’s touch upon his cheek was still so warm, so gentle.He still had people he wished to protect.





	Gray

**Author's Note:**

> aka an attempt to get myself back into writing
> 
> It's a bit of a ramble since thinking about it for too long would make it impossible for me to post anything again, so please understand ;;
> 
> There's slight violence? It's not graphic but yeah  
> McHanzo's not really the central point sorry ):

Hanzo never quite understood what people meant by the “joys of life.”

Since he was born, he was isolated, chained, trained. If it hadn’t been for his mother and Genji, he would never have understood the meaning of beauty, the difference between right and wrong.

 _“I think father wished for you to be a psychopath, to be frank,”_ Genji had told him once, while they were watching a sunset after dinner, enjoying the salty breeze of Gibralter. _“Emotionless, merciless, selfish. As it turns out, you are the complete opposite of a psychopath.”_

Since he was young, he never understood what it was that he felt every time he was called out to train and study. It was all he knew, yet it left him empty, as if there was supposed to be more to life than learning the most effective ways to kill a man or how to swindle more money out of partnered families without them realizing. Every time he watched Genji run off to do things he would never be allowed to do, he felt a sharp pain in his heart, a twist in his stomach. When he had told his mother this the first time, she had told him not to worry, but gazed at him with so much sadness in her eyes.

He later understood as he held a bloodied blade in his hand, rain trying to wash away the crimson on his hands and clothes, that it was _jealousy._

It was too late at that point, of course.

A rush of emotions had filled him at once, as if to try to fill up that emptiness in his heart that he never understood. Anger, grief, regret.

 _Hate_ didn’t come to him until much later—until it had been eleven years since the event, until he was in the middle of buying a Christmas cake for himself and watching families roam about for gifts and dinner. _Hate_ choked him, feeding off the memories of his father giving him a gun and Genji the custom Shuriken he had always wanted, of the elders applauding and sneering as they watched him land the final strike on his brother, of his _mother_ and what kindness could have been in his world long before any harm had befallen upon him or his brother. The hateful messaged scrawled on the walls of King’s Row with spraypaint, the posters advertising the oppression of omnics, the news that constantly ran through information about Talon.

So much war, so much death. So much _hate._

 _“You love too much for a man born into a family such as ours, at this timeline,”_ Genji had said. _“Ironic, is it not? You are a man groomed to be the best assassin, have killed and will kill more in the future, yet you give so many chances to even those who do not deserve it.”_

Every arrow he let loose, the _what-ifs_ and the possible history of his target filled his mind. Perhaps that man had a wife and a child, perhaps that woman had a sick sister she needed money for. And with his arrow, he destroyed any future of his enemy and their relatives.

He was so far away from them when the arrow struck, yet his hands continued dripping red.

Yes, he had thought to end it all once and for all. It was exhausting to _hate,_ to be _disappointed_ by the lack of improvement in this world. Overwatch had been a bliss, a ray of sunlight in this otherwise corrupt world, yet with each body that fell, the heavier his own felt. He had joined for Genji, then for the cause, but now… Now he wasn’t sure.

It felt like a routine—kill, kill, celebrate, kill. Blood was stained deep in his skin, and all he could see on his fellow teammates was red. 

Every day was a game of “will we die or live today?” He himself had simply stopped dreading death, accepting the fact that it would come to him when it was ready.

So when Widowmaker’s bullet streaked its way toward a child— _still so innocent, with so much to live for_ —he threw himself between the two. The bullet shattered through Stormbow, into his chest above his heart, and the force of the impact threw him off the building.

Time seemed to slow in this fall of eternity. Another _bang_ of Widowmaker’s rifle, and breath was punched out of him as his back met the ground with a wet _slap._

The sky was gray. Such deep gray that seemed to isolate him from the rest of the world if he were to stare long enough at it.

 _It rained on that day, too._ A heavy storm, with sky as gray as now—once, he loved the sense of detachment storms created, but since _then,_ it did nothing but trap him inside his memories.

His skin had long gone cold, clothes thoroughly soaked, water gathering in the mud around his body.

_I should get up._

But he couldn’t find it in himself to—he was simply so _tired._ He could vaguely hear familiar voices in his ear—perhaps from his comm. Was that Genji? He would recognize that voice anywhere.

Ah, how foolish he had been. To be so thoroughly brainwashed, to betray his only ally, family.

His fingers closed around something hard—his bow, or what was left of it. He was still clutching it. A pity—Stormbow had been with him for a long, long time. Now it was irreparable.

He wondered again what it would have been like if they had been born in an era without war. If both he and Genji had been born into a normal, loving family. They would have had fights—an inevitable fact. But perhaps, he and Genji would have been able to be normal brothers. Perhaps he would not have to see his brother painted in red every time they met eyes—and perhaps, he would stop hating. Oh, Hanzo was filled with nothing but _hate._ Behind his quiet, stoic façade was nothing but anger and rage and hate—both for himself and for this world. He glanced to the side, where the body of the boy he had attempted to save lay still, getting swallowed by mud.

Humans were such creatures of greed. Both Talon and Overwatch created wars to achieve their respective ideologies; humans could not accept that omnics, however different they were, still had _hearts_ and _thoughts;_ he killed Genji to show that he truly was capable of the power the Shimada clan would give him.

 _It would be better,_ he thought, _if the world simply ended, and took all humanity with it._

Realistically, that would not be possible.

_Then, let me escape from this world._

It would be so easy—he simply had to get up, make his way toward the cliff just a few steps away, and step off. That would be all.

But he didn’t want to leave quite yet, not when Genji’s concerned eyes that now gazed down at him were still filled with life. Not when Jesse’s touch upon his cheek was still so warm, so gentle.

He still had people he wished to protect.

He didn’t register the panic in their voices as tears began to mingle with the raindrops on his cheeks, the shaking hands of Angela as she worked to stop the bleeding. She had already used her resurrection, and her Caduceus was sparking worryingly. Lucio was limp in the arms of Hana’s Meka.

 _“I’ve wanted everything to end for a long time,”_ he had responded to Genji’s muses. _“I still do, sometimes. Sometimes, the world becomes so dark, it becomes easy to lose myself in it. There is nothing but blood and hate and death in my senses—Overwatch is but a temporary comfort. But Genji, while I regret so much that has happened, I find myself not regretting anything at the same time. Everything I did was so cruel, so wrong, but they led you, us, here. It is twisted, it is nonsensical, but I am glad things turned out the way they did.”_

He had lost too much blood. For once, it wasn’t others’ blood soaking his clothes, staining his skin—it was all his.

“Darlin’, I know I always said red’s your color, but this… This ain’t what I meant,” McCree choked out, hand pressed desperately over the bullet wound. Hanzo choked out a laughter, gurgling as blood rose and filled his esophagus.

“Jesse,” Hanzo murmured out, touching McCree’s hand gently. “Jesse.”

Genji came into view again, muttering curses in Japanese. “You cannot die, you cannot, not after all this time, not… Not so soon.”

And the sight of the whole lot—Angela, Hana, Lucio, Jesse, Genji, Reinhardt, _everyone—_ it reminded him of King’s Row, of the families and warmth and _love_ he had seen, and he found himself wondering if it was rain or tears on his cheeks.

“I want… to live,” Hanzo said as his hand reached for Genji’s. He clutched his brother’s hand, desperately, despairingly. “I have found so much to live for, so much that keeps me afloat—I have finally experienced what it is like to be alive, Genji, and I do not want to leave it all so soon. Genji, Genji, I…”

The world spun. The gray slowly took over—how predictable! For the world to be cruel until the very end and giving him the isolation he had craved for so long _now_ , when he did not want it at all! He laughed, and laughed, and laughed and cried until his lungs could push out no more breath, and let the clouds take over.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know if there are any tags you'd like for me to put in! (It's been a while)


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